


Carambola

by yeaka



Series: Red-Lavender [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9620636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Paradise is heat with Hikaru.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Heads up, I’m considering making this setting a series (as in dumping alpha/omega pairs on shore leave/heat-leave in PWP one-shots, otherwise unrelated to this)?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s already feeling feverish, but Dr. McCoy gives him pills to tide him over, and he takes them faithfully. He lets himself be relegated to the nightshift just in case, even though it deprives him of Hikaru’s smiling face, and _technically_ a crisis could happen then just as easily as during their simulated ‘day.’ He just doesn’t want to go crazy in front of Captain Kirk. He’s both relieved and eaten-up with anticipation when they finally pass a Federation-approved planet, and shore leave is announced for some, _heat-leave_ for others.

The _Farragut_ and _Intrepid_ are both already in orbit. Their crew rosters will be crosschecked with the _Enterprise_ ’s personnel, alphas and omegas enlisted in the program sorted out accordingly. Pavel’s pre-approved for heat-leave, and he packs in his quarters with trembling hands. Others offered to help, but he has to do this alone. He can’t trust himself around anyone else right now. The medication only takes him so far.

He knows what the planet’s like. At least, that it’s nice, hospitable, Class M, and he’ll be beamed down to a resort that Uhura described as ‘Bora Bora-esque.’ It’s not even remotely Russian, but as specific as he was with his program application, he knows he can’t have everything. Sometimes he just has to make do with what the Federation can give him. He can’t expect Kirk to throw the mission out the window every time a bridge omega wants a better place to fuck. This will do. As he stuffs swim trunks into his bag, he wonders if he should’ve been more specific on his alpha forms—that’s what really matters. All he said was someone _humanoid and hot._ He didn’t bother to specify gender. Didn’t bother to specify interests. At the time, the thought of an exotic alien lay seemed thrilling.

Now he heads to the transporter room in a too-tight uniform and a swell of butterflies in his chest. Starfleet could send almost anyone to get him through. Given the Intrepid, it could even be a Vulcan. The thought of going through heat with Mr. Spock makes him laugh, and he has to hurry faster to avoid the odd looks from a gaggle of other ensigns he passes.

Then he’s walking into the transporter room, devoid of anyone but Mr. Scott, who says, “All ready, lad? We jus’ sent another three down—one more with yah and that’ll be the lot.” 

Pavel circles onto one transporter pad, bag strung heavily over one shoulder, and beams at Scott to answer, “Ready and rearing.”

Mr. Scott chuckles fondly, and because the last pill was a whole night away, Pavel gets a quick spurt of enjoyment out of an alpha smiling at him so. Mr. Scott wouldn’t be his first pick aboard—he already knows who that would be—but on the doorstep of a heat, the _Enterprise_ ’s esteemed Chief Engineer seems a dazzling prospect. 

Then the doors whoosh open, and the ‘one more’ Mr. Scott mentioned walks right in.

Pavel _stares_. 

Hikaru gives him a wide grin that has him seeing stars. Still in bright gold, with a black regulation bag hanging at his side and eyes only for Pavel, Hikaru comes to stand on the other side of the platform. Pavel’s neck swivels to follow him. Pavel can’t look away. 

Somewhere in the distant background, Mr. Scott chirps, “Have fun, lads!” And the world shimmers out around them.

* * *

They’re beamed onto a thin wooden dock, halfway between a white beach and a thatched-roof bungalow, over crystal-clear water. That water stretches on beyond them, as far as the eye can see, and Pavel doesn’t know what’s on the other side, because he still can’t stop looking at Hikaru.

Hikaru steps over to lift the strap off Pavel’s shoulder, easily sidling Pavel’s bag onto his other side, and a rush of warmth surges through Pavel’s body despite the gentle wind. The air is cool, temperate, but Hikaru blazes like the sun, and Pavel stumbles, “Hikaru—”

“Sorry,” Hikaru offers, with a little shrug that looks genuinely apologetic. “I’ll explain in a minute—let’s put these inside first.” And then he has the nerve to start walking, off along the narrow walkway towards the open door of the bungalow at the end. Pavel hesitates, looking back towards the beach—tropical foliage follows up the sand, into a towering green mountain, more bungalows nearly out of sight on either side. He half expects to see someone waiting there—whatever alpha’s been assigned to help him through his heat. But there’s no one.

Hikaru calls, “C’mon,” and Pavel begrudgingly follows, glad of the raw-wood railing on either side. He half feels like he’s going to faint and slip over the side. At least the water looks shallow and void of any flora or fauna. It’s just him and Hikaru as far as he can hear and see.

He can _smell_ Hikaru as soon as he’s inside the tiny bungalow. The wave of _alpha_ pheromones hits him hard, like the first time he met Hikaru on their bridge, when he was nowhere near heat but Hikaru was still stunning. He can’t even bring himself to take in the beauty of their surroundings. The idyllic hut means nothing to him. It’s a wide, mostly one-room space made of beach wood, with a lofty bed, a white couch, a little kitchenette, all the Federation-standard amenities, and Hikaru stands in the middle of it like a personal beacon, already pulling toiletries out of his bag. There must be a washroom somewhere, but Pavel can’t bother to look for it. Instead he just whines, louder, “ _Hikaru_ , what the hell?”

Hikaru stops with a bottle of toothpaste in one hand and shrugs sheepishly. He probably has no idea how endearing he is, even in the smallest movements. Pavel feels dizzy just looking at him. Another step into the room, and Pavel braces himself with one hand against the wall. Hikaru seems to need a minute to figure out how to say whatever his explanation is, which is just as well, because Pavel needs it to see straight.

Then Hikaru sighs, “I am sorry, Pavel. I would’ve told you when it came in, but... I just got the confirmation this morning.”

It _is_ the morning. Or at least, the beach looks like it; the open windows and two doors all look out upon a sunny vista. Hikaru hikes Pavel’s bag onto the coffee table beside his own and continues, “I could tell you were going into heat earlier this week, obviously—” Maybe because of Pavel’s blush, he stops and hurriedly corrects, “Not that it was obvious to everyone; I just meant because we’re friends and we work so close. Anyway, well... I was already in the program on the alpha end, and I’ll admit the omega profile I gave wasn’t far off you, but I still didn’t want to get my hopes up and was quite pleased when Starfleet matched us for heat-leave...” 

Pavel hears it all, but what he replies in his head for a few extra seconds afterwards is that _Hikaru requested someone like him._ He had no idea. And Hikaru was _pleased_ to be matched with him...

With a little wince, Hikaru adds, “I mean, if you don’t want to, I understand—we have a friendship already—it’s not too late to call the ship and request someone else—”

Pavel only realizes then how quiet he’s been, and he quickly blurts, “No, no! Nyet, zhis is good, I’m just... surprised.” He tries to smile and is sure it’s come out too wide. Even inside, Hikaru’s silhouetted in sunlight. He looks like a mythical being out of one of the old Russian folktales Pavel’s grandmother used to tell him. When he thinks of Hikaru being enrolled in the program, Pavel can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself for not thinking of this, or irritated at Hikaru for not mentioning it sooner. He’s overwhelmed with anticipation.

He’s overtaken in a sudden haze and stumbles, but Hikaru darts forward and catches him before he falls. Cradled safely in Hikaru’s arms, Pavel lets the tremor pass. Next time his heat has to be put off so long for a suitable planet, he thinks he’ll ask Dr. McCoy for double strength. This time, Hikaru pulls him back up and holds him firmly, gently guiding him over to the couch. Pavel mumbles instinctively, “’M fine.”

But Hikaru helps him down onto the impossibly soft cushions anyway and insists, “You should rest. The first duty of an alpha on heat-leave is to take care of the omega.” He adjusts Pavel in place like a doll, and Pavel indulges it because he’s busy inhaling Hikaru’s cologne. He could definitely get used to this. 

He likes being _important_ and hard working too, loves his coveted position on the flagship of the fleet and his honorary record. But when he forces himself to _relax_ and let that all go, this is his kind of vacation.

Even if it’s not Russia.

Hikaru tenderly pecks Pavel’s forehead, which makes him keen and want more, but Hikaru’s already straightening to his feet. “Now, do you want to rest here or in bed?” Pavel pouts for show. Hikaru promises, “I’ll carry you anywhere you like.” That sounds nice. 

Hikaru’s calm style of command eases Pavel’s natural fire. Pavel sighs and turns sideways on the couch, stretching out his legs, and Hikaru smiles affectionately and walks over to tug off Pavel’s boots. Pavel’s heart clenches while he waits for the rest to go—his belt, his shirt, his trousers, _everything_ , until it’s just the two of them, _naked and sweaty and_ —but Hikaru just puts the boots aside and walks out of Pavel’s line of vision, calling, “I’ll check what they’ve got in the fridge. I brought some chips for the Synthesizer, but let’s see if we can find something with more local flavour.”

Pavel whines loudly at the thought, and footsteps hurry across the light wood floor, Hikaru instantly in front of him again. “Do you need anything?”

Forgetting the idea of food already, Pavel groans, “You,” and reaches out to grab Hikaru’s gold tunic. He tugs Hikaru forward, until Hikaru’s kicking off his own boots and settling onto the sofa. Pavel curls around his side and nuzzles into his shoulder, only to trail lower and lie down again, cushioning his head in Hikaru’s lap. Hikaru’s long fingers thread into his curls and stroke softly through—Pavel lets out a contented purr and holds tight to Hikaru’s pant leg. In his foggy state, the rest of the world seems to filter out, like still caught in the pattern-buffer of the _Enterprise_ ’s transporter—and all the universe boils down to Hikaru’s warm thigh, Hikaru’s loving touch, and the quiet lull of the waves outside. All the discomfort of starting heat on a starship was worth this.

Hikaru starts to hum one of Uhura’s songs to him, and Pavel lets his eyes close and paradise take him.

* * *

He wakes up sometime in the afternoon, a few hours later, if the artistic clock on the wall is in any way related to Federation-standard time. His head feels thick, and yet, when he slowly sits up on the couch, a little clearer. At least, he isn’t burning up anymore. Maybe his body’s gotten used to having Hikaru’s around.

He can sense Hikaru now. Only a few meters away. Like he could reach out and touch Hikaru. The only alpha in his world. Somewhere out the window, a bird calls, like the gulls they had in San Francisco outside the Academy. He can still hear the waves, lapping slowly at the wooden pegs that hold their bungalow above the water. His pants and long-sleeved tunic are both a little too long for the weather, and he scrunches in his legs so he can pull off his socks. 

Then he totters to his feed, rubs the sleep from his eyes, and wanders blindly across the cabin, pulled by the cloud of _Hikaru_. By the time his hands have fallen from his face, he’s right there, and can wrap his arms around Hikaru’s middle, flattening into Hikaru’s back, chin hooking over Hikaru’s shoulder. Hikaru’s bent over what must be a stovetop, a pan sizzling with melted oats.

“Porridge,” Hikaru tells him. “I remember you saying once it was a... how’d you put it? ‘Wery Russian food.’”

Pavel sticks out his tongue at the teasing of his accent, but a smile quickly follows. “It is.” There aren’t any smaller spoons around, so he has to take the big wooden one out of Hikaru’s hand. Hikaru lets Pavel stir the pan once, then take a large scoop and lift it up. Pavel only takes a small bite at first, testing it, but it’s smooth, piping-hot, both sweet and savoury, and wholly delicious. He lets out a happy mewl as he licks the spoon clean, then goes in for another.

Hikaru chuckles, “I guess it’s done, then.”

“You cook as well as you fence,” Pavel muses.

“As well as I garden?”

“Yes, yes.”

“As well as I pilot?”

Pavel would give Hikaru a little shove to end the kidding compliments, but his hands are busy holding onto the spoon and Hikaru, so instead he just doesn’t answer. His mouth is full of porridge anyway. He doesn’t think to share until he’s nearly done with the pan, but when he holds the spoon to Hikaru, Hikaru says, “I ate while you slept.”

“It’s all for me, zhen?”

“All you, babe.”

Trilling in delight, Pavel finishes the rest himself, scraping every last bit off the edges, and never once letting go of the alpha in his arms—it would make more sense to slip the porridge into a bowl and find a seat, but he likes this better, likes _holding on_. Hikaru gives him strength. Even though he feels like he can be vulnerable with Hikaru. It’s a strange, lovely juxtaposition. He licks the spoon clean, until there’s absolutely nothing left.

Then he sets it back in the pan and sighs, “I could get used to zhis. You taking care of me.”

“Enjoy it, because that’s exactly what you’ll get for the next twenty-four hours.”

Pavel twitches.

He’d almost forgotten the time constraint.

Sometimes his heats feel like they’ll last _forever_ , but they don’t, really. He only has official leave for two days. Today and tomorrow. He wasted part sleeping. He’ll probably sleep a lot again. Whenever Hikaru takes him, he’ll be out like a light afterwards. And then they’ll be back on their starship, traipsing around the stars. 

Maybe Hikaru can feel his tension, because Hikaru carefully disentangles from his grip and turns around in his embrace. The air is still bright, warm. Frowning with concern and still loosely encircled in Pavel’s arms, Hikaru asks, “What?”

Pavel doesn’t know what to say. So he acts instead. He leans in, tilts his head, and brushes his lips over Hikaru’s, the way he never would’ve dared back on the Enterprise, but now _he’s falling and can’t stop_. It’s what he’s here for. What Hikaru’s here for. He presses their mouths together and _moans_ , instantly surging harder into someone he’s maybe always wanted.

Hikaru’s hands fly to his face. His cheeks are cupped, his jaw gently guided to the side, his lips softly pried open with a supple tongue. Pavel opens and moans all the louder. He knows how filthy he sounds. He knows how wantonly he’s behaving. But he _can’t help it and he just wants Hikaru so much_ —

He’s losing air and stops to pant against Hikaru’s mouth. He’s usually a better kisser: usually knows how to breathe. He can’t think coherently. He mumbles, “I, um... there’s medication in my bag...”

“I know,” Hikaru quietly soothes. “It was in your file. I know which ones to give you; I’ll make sure you take them.”

Of course he will. Some are for heat, some aren’t. It feels like there should be other things to say. They’ve been _friends_ so long and there should be more things to share. But Hikaru knows everything else about him, and he’s sort of getting dizzy again.

Hikaru gives him a tentative peck. He kisses Hikaru back. Hikaru tempts him to open again, and then his mouth is full of Hikaru’s tongue and he’s trying to join in, the two of them opening and closing together, one kiss after another, a whole slew of them—they stumble back, and Hikaru must hit the counter, but they keep going. Pavel’s hands start roaming Hikaru’s sides. He drags up Hikaru’s tunic, squeezes through the thick fabric, groans at the feeling of Hikaru’s hard pecs. He’s seen Hikaru shirtless in the gym and _wanted that_. He’s never seen Hikaru _naked_. He doesn’t care what the rest looks like, what Hikaru has: _he wants it_. His hands twist beneath Hikaru’s arms and trail down his spine, slipping over the hump of his ass and squeezing _hard_. Hikaru moans back. Hikaru’s got such a taut rear—Pavel bets it’s ridiculously tight, and he can feel a hard bulge forming against his own crotch, can feel Hikaru subtly starting to grind into him. Pavel shamelessly starts to rut back, whimpering his want and thinking a steady mantra of _HikaruHikaruHikaru_...

He mutters around Hikaru’s mouth, “I think... I am... ahhh!” He can barely talk. He’s clinging to Hikaru desperately and everywhere. Hikaru just thumbs his cheeks and holds him steady, holds him up. Pavel starts kneading Hikaru’s ass and wildly wondering if he wants to be impaled or fill Hikaru up. Everything sounds appealing. Good. Right. He wants Hikaru right here, right now—

“Where do you want to be taken?” Hikaru asks. He sounds breathless, but not as lost as Pavel. He’s still got his head; that’s what he’s for; he’ll help Pavel through the helplessness; make sure he’s treated right and taken home. “The bed, the couch, the shore...? I really will carry you...”

Pavel doesn’t know. He wants to be in Hikaru’s arms. He stops frantically kissing Hikaru and just shakes, trying to think. He can’t even picture what those places are. His fingers clench and unclench around Hikaru’s uniform, slowly sliding back up to Hikaru’s shoulders. Then he hangs his head and buries it in the crux of Hikaru’s neck and shoulder, struggling for coherency. It’s vaguely scary being this hopeless.

Nothing’s scary when he’s with Hikaru. He reflects, in a tiny speck of clarity, on how _natural_ it feels to kiss his best friend. He takes in another breath of Hikaru’s cologne, and in a strange, boneless sensation, the _hunger_ ebbs out of him. He’s left stranded and empty, tottering in place.

Hikaru’s arms drop to circle his waist and keep him up. “What’s wrong?”

Pavel can’t even say. He can’t fully remember how the last heat went—he wasn’t in the program yet. It was just a mass of pheromones and the closest willing body. 

It should’ve been Hikaru. Pavel takes another deep breath and slowly pulls back. Hikaru tilts his chin up to look in his eyes.

Hikaru asks, kind and understanding, “It passed, didn’t it?”

Blushing hotly, Pavel nods. It’s embarrassing. He really thought that was it. But Hikaru kisses his forehead and says, “It’s fine.”

Then Hikaru pushes away from the counter, taking Pavel with him, and suggests, “Why don’t we watch something?”

But Pavel’s gaze wanders out a window, and he thinks: “We have water... maybe we should use zhat.”

* * *

Playing with Hikaru in the water is ridiculously fun. Pavel feels like a child again, which he doesn’t say aloud, because he knows Hikaru will only remind him how young he is. Hikaru keeps a sharp eye on him, though Pavel insists he couldn’t drown in these waters—it’s barely deep enough to swim in. A few steps towards the shore, and he’d only be shoulder-deep. The tide would wash him there. But Hikaru would catch him first. He knows that.

He splashes Hikaru and gets splashed back, and pesters Hikaru for a race to the horizon, but Hikaru won’t go deeper while Pavel’s heat-addled. Pavel says the cool water’s helping, when really, Hikaru’s setting him on fire anyway. There’s no saving him.

But it’s fun to play. It’s fun to feel weightless. The water is absolutely transparent, only slightly obscuring the view below in glass-like distortions. Hikaru, stripped down to swim trunks, is delectable.

Hikaru glistening wet is irresistible. Pavel wonders if he knows how handsome he is, and he laughs, “I wonder how many of our peers would be jealous, if they knew I was out swimming with the resident Slavic supermodel.”

Blushing and preening and all around pleased, Pavel insists, “Most.” Even if he doesn’t really think that. It’s nice to grin and see Hikaru grinning wider. They swim in circles around each other, underneath their bungalow, and around the tiny square dock behind it like a back porch. There are three people swimming all the way at the Eastern bungalow, too far away to see much beyond dark skin and black hair—maybe Vulcans, from the way they seem to swim stiffly and methodically. Pavel has no desire to swim over and see them. He doesn’t want to share Hikaru. Not right now. Hikaru doesn’t suggest it, just keeps Pavel to himself, and they trail up to the beach and back again until the sun is setting over the sea.

Then they make their way out of the water, up onto the warm sand that squishes so easily underfoot. Pavel watches Hikaru the whole way, each patch of skin newly exposed from the water and dripping wet, highlighted in the orange-purple glow of the sunset. It’s all Pavel ever wanted. He feels absurdly lucky. He takes Hikaru’s hand as they circle back onto the dock. Their footsteps dry quickly along the wood, and the pathway’s just uneven enough that there’s no danger of slipping off. Hikaru keeps one arm around Pavel anyway. Pavel sinking into lovesickness again.

He asks as they reach their bungalow and towel off in the doorway, “We can share the bed, yes?”

Hikaru smiles and says, “Of course.”

* * *

He can barely function. He doesn’t know how he makes it through the washroom. Hikaru practically has to brush his teeth for him, has to feed him his pills and make him swallow, has to strip him of his clinging trunks, and _oh_ , Pavel wants to drop to his knees and beg Hikaru for _sex right there_ , but he’s shaking too hard and just lets Hikaru towel off his crotch and slip new boxers onto him. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to tell if they’re from his luggage or Hikaru’s. Hikaru helps him to the bed and tenderly tucks him in. He’s never felt so _loved_.

He watches through heavy lashes as Hikaru slips onto the other side and taps the lamp on the nightstand—it flickers off. It isn’t truly _dark_. The open doors and windows let in too much starlight and the distant glow of the planet’s two moons. But it’s dark enough to set the mood, to be romantic, to make Pavel yearn to see Hikaru up close.

Pavel shuffles closer under the blanket to snuggle up against Hikaru’s side. He drapes his arm over Hikaru’s bare chest, hooks his leg over Hikaru’s thigh; Hikaru’s just in boxers, like him. Hikaru’s so perfect. Hikaru makes room on his pillow for Pavel to share it, turns his head so his nose nudges Pavel’s, and whispers, “Hi.”

Pavel grins, cheesy and cute and full of life. “Hi.” He wishes he could press them closer, but it would require surpassing skin and bones to really make them _one_. He’d have that too, if he could. He mumbles, “I wish we could always be like zhis.”

“You don’t want to help fly a starship anymore?” Hikaru chuckles. 

“Mmm... nope,” Pavel decides, “I’ll just be pampered by my handsome boyfriend on a nice resort.”

“Oh, we’re boyfriends now, are we?”

Pavel hadn’t even realized he’d said it. But Hikaru’s still smiling at him. So Pavel hums, “Yes,” and rubs his nose against Hikaru’s more. He can taste Hikaru’s breath. He thinks they were always close to crossing that line anyway, just kept at bay because _duty_ and _work_ and all those things, but that was silly. Hikaru’s hand climbs out of the blanket to cup Pavel’s cheek again, and Hikaru strokes him a few times, clearly thinking. Pavel lets him.

Hikaru finally announces, “If you still want that when this is over, good.”

Pavel says with complete confidence, “I will.” He has all the memories of wanting it before. The imprints of butterflies on his insides. He should’ve asked sooner. He would’ve, if he’d thought Hikaru would oblige.

He doesn’t tell Hikaru how often he’s dreamed of _this_ , how many times he’s touched himself to the thought of Hikaru in his bed. An alien fling would’ve been a nice diversion. But he would’ve come _home_ to Hikaru. He falls quiet in the simple longing of it: the _want_ he’s felt for so long.

The night stretches. There are no lights on in the bungalow, no sounds but Hikaru’s breathing and the water. Pavel thinks he might fall asleep.

But then he mumbles, “Hikaru?”

And Hikaru seems to know, because he just asks: “Now?”

“Da.”

Hikaru shifts. Pavel can feel it. Hikaru has to pull part of his side free from Pavel so he can roll onto it, flush against Pavel properly, curled up to one another as closely as possible, with the blanket draped protectively over them. Pavel can’t seem to make his eyes close. He gets lost in the sharp glint of Hikaru’s, shining right through the dark. Hikaru reaches back into Pavel’s hair, getting a solid grip.

Then Hikaru tugs him forward, and Pavel obliges, mewling happily. They share a closed kiss, then a slightly open one that tastes of toothpaste, then a wider one comprised of searching tongues. The more Hikaru touches him, the more Pavel wants it all.

He takes it all. He starts rocking into Hikaru, grinding closer, spreading his legs as wide as he can, and he spreads his fingers wide to take in as much smooth skin as he can fit beneath his hands. Hikaru’s still a little damp from the water, but mostly dry, all soft, firm, plush but muscled. Pavel touches _everything_. He follows the curve of Hikaru’s back, the indents of his shoulder blades, around to his chest to stroke over and over again. Hikaru’s hands go wild in his hair. Every kiss gives way into another. Pavel couldn’t part them if he wanted to.

He feels like they’re tied together. He’s glued to Hikaru’s front. He can feel Hikaru tented against him, and he finally lets his hands slide to Hikaru’s waistband, where he thumbs the edge—he knows he should ask but can’t stop kissing to do it, couldn’t form words anyway, can’t do anything but _feel_ , and Hikaru’s presence is so reassuring. Hikaru knows. Hikaru’s here for him. Pavel slips his fingers beneath Hikaru’s boxers and goes to the back to squeeze Hikaru’s cheeks properly, fingers digging into the crack between, and they both moan so in sync that Pavel can’t tell who’s louder. He glides back to the front to wrap his hand tight around Hikaru’s base, and Hikaru’s hard cock pulses warmly in his hand. It’s smooth but patterned in veins, a little arched, and the sparse hair around it tickles the side of Pavel’s hand. He gives Hikaru one dry stroke, pausing at the end to flick his thumb around the spongy foreskin. He forgets how to breathe for a moment, and Hikaru moves to kiss down his neck instead. When Hikaru nips him, he cries out. He’s enraptured. He shivers and ruts into Hikaru like a horny animal, his hand going slack as he loses the ability to do anything but exist in _pleasure_.

Hikaru kisses him all over. One of Hikaru’s hands plays down his front, pausing to tweak his nipples, but the other’s disappeared. Hikaru pinches one little bud and puffs into Pavel’s mouth, “Which end do you want...?”

Both, everything. Pavel doesn’t know, doesn’t care. He mutters, “Um...” But then Hikaru pinches his nipple, and Pavel arches off the bed and cries out a wordless plea, and when he collapses, he can’t put two syllables together. Hikaru kisses his cheek.

Hikaru must be getting oil. Pavel can vaguely see a bottle in the dark, through his peripherals. Hikaru bites at Pavel’s bottom lip, tugs it, and whispers, “I wanna take you... can I?”

Pavel nods. Yes, _yes_. He wants to say that Hikaru can do _anything_ to him, but all he can do is whimper and plead. He starts pawing at Hikaru’s body in random places, just _touching_ and then moving on to somewhere else. He hopes they can do this later, when his mind is sober and he can map everything out. He hopes Hikaru will love him after. He thinks Hikaru loves him now. _He loves Hikaru so much_... 

He groans when Hikaru starts tugging his boxers away. He doesn’t understand why he’s wearing them in the first place. Hikaru ducks under the blanket to get rid of them, and Pavel pushes the blanket off entirely—it’s too _hot_ for that. He kicks away the boxers when Hikaru’s got them past his ankles. Then he rolls onto his back and opens his arms, and Hikaru climbs right on top of him, between his spreading legs. Hikaru pushes his thighs up all the wider, then uncaps the bottle and pours some of the clear liquid into one palm. Pavel reaches down to hold his own thighs apart and back, so his knees are against his chest, and Hikaru has a proper view, but Hikaru’s breath only catches, his movement halting. Pavel’s cock is arching off his stomach, rock-hard and sprouting a small bead of precum at the end. Hikaru stares at Pavel’s hole, until Pavel whines, “Hikaaa-ruuu...”

Hikaru mutters, “Sorry,” and instantly drops his hand to Pavel’s ass. As soon as the cold liquid touches him, Pavel gasps, but then Hikaru’s fingers are stretching his brim open, and he’s writhing again. Hikaru doesn’t tell him to be still, just pushes one blunt, wet fingertip into his hole, and Pavel whimpers and clenches. He knows he should relax. He tries to. It doesn’t matter; he’ll take it. He’s _in heat_. His body’s ready. Sex is all he wants, all he needs. Sex and an alpha to give it to him, one way or another. Hikaru’s finger sinks slowly in to the knuckle, and Pavel greedily sucks it down. He hisses in protest when it slides away again.

Another finger joins it. Hikaru scissors him open, carefully but quickly, efficiently, and Pavel’s body obediently loosens for it, the way only heat could do. Pavel’s soaking and gaping open in no time, and he needs _more_ , and he humps the air and begs, “Hikaru, _please_...” His head’s swimming. He needs _Hikaru_ so badly that it hurts...

Hikaru shoves his own boxers down his hips, positions the tip against Pavel’s hole, and thrusts in all in one go. It jams inside, hits the right spot, makes Pavel _scream_ , and he curves around Hikaru, leaping up to grab Hikaru tight, hold around his shoulders and keep him captive. Pavel’s entire channel is the right spot like this. Everything feels _good_. Heart-wrenchingly good. He clings to Hikaru for dear life and wails until Hikaru starts moving, starts pulling out again, only to slam forward. Hikaru sheaths himself completely and Pavel takes it all, every last centimeter, and just wants _more_.

More, more. Hikaru finds Pavel’s cock and gives it a perfect squeeze, pumps it, and starts to fuck him properly, in and out, methodical at first, then harder, then merciless, until Pavel’s bouncing up and down in the mattress, the bed rattling against the wall. It doesn’t seem like the quiet bungalow can take the brute force of Hikaru’s thrusts. But it does. Pavel does. Pavel’s overwhelmed. He’s drowning in pure _lust_. Hikaru fucks him over and over, and every thrust makes him shriek. He cries himself hoarse in no time and keeps going. _This is what he was made for._

Hikaru is all he can think. All he can feel. He can hear Hikaru’s heavy breathing in his ear and the feral slapping noises of their skin. Hikaru reeks of sweat and sex. Hikaru tastes delicious and Pavel _needs it_. He can’t find Hikaru’s mouth; he’s so useless; can’t do anything; just mouths at Hikaru’s shoulders and whines until Hikaru does it for him: connects their mouths. Then they’re kissing properly and Pavel’s _complete_. It’s bliss. It’s too intense for him to take. But he clings to consciousness and savours every scrumptious slide of Hikaru’s raging cock into his shivering body.

It seems to last forever; maybe hours; not long enough, but something finally breaks, is more than Pavel’s body can handle, and he feels it building, feels it roaring forward—it breaks out of him in a torrential rush of everything pleasure is. He comes harder than he ever has, drenching Hikaru’s hand and nearly passing out; he sees stars, only stars. Everything is white, wonderful, weightless—he loses touch with his body. His ears are ringing. His skin’s prickling. He sinks back into the bed with nothing left.

Hikaru spills into him a moment later, crying out into his mouth and filling him up. Pavel gets a strange delight out of it. He clenches around Hikaru’s cock as much as he can, though he’s too spend to do much else. Hikaru rocks those lasts thrusts in, then collapses atop him.

Pavel’s a mess. He thinks he might pass out.

But he mumbles first, “Boyfriends.”

Hikaru laughs. But he promises, “Yeah.” He kisses Pavel’s cheek.

Pavel can’t move at all anymore. Hikaru slides to his side, not fully on top of him anymore, and pants for air. Then Hikaru slowly sits up, gingerly pulling loose, and Pavel’s left too empty but too broken to groan over it. Hikaru gives him another kiss. 

Hikaru gets up. Hikaru puts the oil away, brings a wet cloth to gently clean Pavel up, and tucks Pavel back in after, just when his body temperature is simmering back to normal and he was craving the blanket. Hikaru disappears into the washroom for a minute, but when he comes back, Pavel repeats a little louder and a little slurred with sleep: “Boyfriends.”

“Definitely.”

Hikaru climbs into the bed again, next to Pavel, right where he belongs. Even if the heat ends, if the vacation ends, Pavel has to make sure _this_ doesn’t. He still wants Hikaru like a planet wants a sun. He’s just too sleepy to say it.

So he whines until Hikaru holds him. And they fall asleep like that, until the morning comes, and tomorrow’s another slice of heaven.


End file.
